Student grateful to finally be able to use hoarded Bath & Body Works hand sanitizers from sixth grade

By: Emma Jean, Staff Writer

With half the world being on fire and countless (often preventable) deaths being reported daily, it feels like everything is out of my control. My stupid little actions aren’t even helping with this deep sense of loneliness I have. How can I help with the new bubonic plague? What do I do when everything feels out of control? 

If almost buying hair dye online and then talking myself out of it doesn’t work, I clean. One day, I put on my combination Lizzo/Nickelback motivational playlist and some rubber gloves and got to work deep-cleaning my closet.

After digging through layers of high school binders and stress-tear-stained band sheet music like some kind of sad paleontologist, the Silly Bandz and Tiger Beat magazines told me I had reached the middle school era. I was bracing myself for deeply embarrassing drawings of David Tennant, but nothing could have prepared me for what I found instead. Shimmering, covered in turquoise and magenta cases and grime, there were dozens and dozens of Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer bottles from the early 2010s. I had found it: the pandemic holy grail. 

Like a ravenous beast, I ripped open bottles and poured the sweet nectar onto my hands, my arms, my head — anything to soak up the precious juices. Drunk on power and rubbing alcohol, my pulse pounded as I contemplated my newly held responsibility. People search their whole quarantine lives for just a drop of hand sanitizer. Here I was, boasting 10 litres of it — sparkles and the sweet, nauseating stench of Chocolate Creme Donut included. A sense of self-righteous purpose came over me.

I knew what I needed to do. 

I tied a bandana over my nose and mouth, smeared fallen forest fire ash under my eyes like war paint, and sprinted out of my driveway. 

Chucking hand sanitizer bottles at houses and passerbys like a punch-drunk Newsie, I ran through neighbourhood streets sharing my good news with anyone six feet away that would listen. The gift of cleanliness was too important to be hoarded; it was my responsibility to share this with the world. Did I hit the windshields of oncoming traffic, hindering their vision with the pink, sparkling contents of a Cherry Apple bottle reminiscent of a bludgeoned fairy? Maybe. But I also gave the driver peace of mind.

Skipping through the streets, tossing bottles over my shoulders with abandon, I felt like I had found my true Sweet Pea-scented purpose amongst the chaos. 

I threw almost every bottle I had at my neighbours that day . . . except for one. I placed it right in front of my door on a table to use. Now, every time I walk home, all worries about the pandemic and online classes and smoke and elections and deadlines and isolation and bullshit just melt away. I had a pandemic’s worth of hand sanitizer. Now others do, too. For one shining, Toasted Coconut-smelling moment, all was well.